Champagne
by monavi
Summary: She had never been one for alcohol. It only enforced those recreational-based standards she tended to oppose. Unfortunately, she was only human, and humans had a nasty habit of making reckless decisions in spur-of-the-moment situations.


There were times when societal constructs were simply fascinating to Pearl. Humanity's seemingly backwards evolution from self-sufficiency to a people dependent on entertainment and cultural value had always proved a point of criticism for her. But since birth she had been taught to analyze the world around her and take an unequivocal position to defend with her life; such teachings had always been important to her. And usually she would not partake in anything going against that philosophy.

Tonight was an exception. An exception Pearl would have regretted, if her brain had been functioning as normal.

She had never been one for alcohol. It only enforced those recreational-based standards she tended to oppose. Unfortunately, she was only human, and humans had a nasty habit of making reckless decisions in spur-of-the-moment situations; in this case, the aftermath of a post-flight celebration. Her entire research group, a comparably small gathering of eighteen people, had invited her out to a local French bistro to celebrate their success. And although Pearl had initially turned them down, she changed her mind after dedicating an hour to mulling it over in the bath. It was, after all, a perfectly reasonable thing to do. She was a responsible adult, and responsible adults were allowed to let loose every once in a while.

The problem was, how was someone who had never let loose before supposed to tell when enough was enough?

At this point, Pearl could hardly remember who had gotten her started on the pinot grigio. She flat out refused to take shots like most of the others were doing, but a few glasses of the bar's prize white wine and she had fallen hard. There was something so refined about wine; besides, it so nicely complimented the formal wear she had donned before they left. Pearl loved the way the silky black gown felt against her legs, even if it was outrageously fancy. Tonight was a night for being outrageous; she had already caught herself swaying back and forth on her stool. Thank heaven she wasn't the designated driver.

The driver in question, as a matter of fact, was sitting just a few stools down and chatting with the bartender. Her name was Garnet, the facility's equipment manager, and it was general knowledge that she and Pearl had been flirting back and forth for months. Why a powerful valkyrie of a woman would even show a hint of interest in a petite, birdlike engineer like Pearl was beyond her, but she figured it was better to count her blessings rather than dwell on them; a unnecessarily difficult feat for her anxious habits to overcome.

Still, she had started to tire of their relentless touch-and-go. It was hard to quell a schoolgirl crush around someone like Garnet, whose Botticelli figure was shaped from russet marble, and met every one of her shy advances with affectionate calm. Neither party had made a move in the direction of an official relationship, but Pearl liked to think it was at this point a mere label to be applied on something they had always had — of course, they hadn't even been on a first date, so how could they be called a couple? Her mind would go back and forth. Tonight, however, all she could do was stare; her lips slightly parted as she watched the object of her affections.

Honestly, just glancing at her made Pearl's neck heat up. Tonight Garnet's gravity-defying hair bounced in curly ringlets around high, sculpted cheekbones; a devastatingly scarlet bodycon dress hugged her hips and thighs. And thanks to the alcohol that was now flowing in abundance through her bloodstream, Pearl had never felt quite so… sensual. So attracted to this woman sitting only a few feet away from her.

It was unnerving, but also a little exciting — exploring the foregrounds of the unknown.

Seemingly on a whim, she caught Garnet's eye, playing with the empty wineglass in front of her. Pearl's lips curled into a subtle smile and she reached out a hand, beckoning the other with ghostly fingers to her side.

"Garnet," she called, dragging the two syllables across her tongue.

Her coworker raised an eyebrow, but said one last thing to the bartender and joined Pearl at the end of the bar.

"Hey, darlin'." Her low rumble of a voice made Pearl swoon. "You're lookin' lonely, wanna come over?"

Oh, heavens. This was it. She couldn't let her hazy sense of judgement screw this up. Not when after months of suggestive cat-and-mouse, their demure dance had ended in a casual celebration-induced confrontation —

"To the hospital?" said her mouth, before her brain had a chance to catch up.

Well, congratulations, the practical side of Pearl's brain scolded her. She's going to get up, walk away, and never speak to you again.

But the tiny, devilish smile that crept across Garnet's lips suggested something else entirely.

"Good," came the nonchalant response. "You'll need a wheelchair after tonight."

Oh, heavens.

She must have gotten up at that point, risen in what she hoped was a dignified manner and not at all reflecting how terribly flustered she was — but Pearl's legs folded underneath her and she toppled facefirst into Garnet, shattering the wineglass she had been toying with. Stars fizzled before her eyes and everything melted into darkness, just as she had heard it described in every novel she ever read.

Pearl had never liked wine anyway.


End file.
